PatD/WW: Centerville (or, Five stops on the trail)
Title: Centerville (or, Five stops on the trail)
Fandom: Panic at the West Wing
Pairing: Jon/Spencer
Rating: PG
Words: 1878
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
Notes: for wethepeople. thanks to rossetti.

Centerville, Wisconsin

"There are 23 Centervilles in the United States." The senator stares out the bus window. In the back lounge, the one with the door and the only place to find some quiet, the senator has put aside his briefing book in favor of the scenery. "This one is the birthplace of Mark Tobey," he announces.

Spencer is trying to get through his email. "I don't know who that is, sir."

"A painter, Spencer. An artist." He narrows his eyes across the couch. "Haven't you been to the Smithsonian?"

"I haven't really had the time."

"Do it. Write that down in your book. He's in there. Make a day of it." He leans forward. "Pick a painting and stand in front of it for an hour. At least."

Something Spencer has learned about Sam Seaborn is that he really means everything he says. Spencer felt it that first time he saw the senator speak, the event at Berkeley, and again when Ryan joined him in Sacramento, but he knows it now. The comments that sound casual to others will always have a follow-up. Spencer pulls out his notebook to write, Smithsonian, and a Polaroid falls from between the pages. The senator picks it up off the floor.

"Did you take this?" He holds it up to the window for better light.

"No. My, um, friend. Uh, Jon Walker took it. He--"

"The guy from Reuters? I like him." The senator hands the photo back. "No matter where we are, he always seems to be having a good time."

It's a surprise that the senator has noticed, but it shouldn't be. Spencer keeps the names of politicians and fundraisers and union leaders on cards because no one can remember everyone on the campaign trail. But sometimes the senator doesn't need the card. Sometimes he notices people. He notices Jon, who Spencer knows would rather stand to the side, behind everyone else, looking for the picture no one else has made.

The photo is the senator, California, Spencer thinks, behind the podium with his hands blurred in passionate gesture.

"Art, Spencer." The senator settles back into his briefing books. "We need to talk more about the people who make art."

-

Centerville, Utah

They stop at Reading Elementary on the way to the University of Utah. The senator likes the symmetry. Brendon loves the kids, and he's the first one out of the bus. Spencer catches up with him outside the gymnasium while they wait for word from the Secret Service.

"This is what it's about," Brendon says. His head is craned back, and he's staring up at the mural on the wall. It was probably painted by the kids. Spencer's sure people can't bend like that and dogs don't come in that color.

Brendon's not talking about the mural or even the photo-op here in a small town school. He's talking about the chance the senator takes whenever it's possible to talk to kids.

"Kids who can't vote," Spencer reminds them both.

It's the campaign's job to make sure there are cameras and reporters present for every moment--the senator holding a baby or with a picture book. Brendon is the one who worries that the kids are having fun.

"No, they can't vote." He looks over at Spencer and smiles. "Not yet."

The Secret Service agents open the gym doors, and staff streams in to set up before the students arrive. Spencer keeps his eye on the senator. He's walking the small stage, getting a feel of the space in that same quiet way he does a university auditorium.

"Incredible," the senator says.

"Yes, sir?" Spencer steps forward, ready.

"We all started in a place like this, Spencer. Every one of us." He sweeps an arm across the expanse, where speechwriters and policy advisers are chasing red rubber balls around the room.

"That's not exactly true. More than two million children in this country are home schooled." He stops himself short. "Sir," Spencer adds, in case.

The senator turns a surprised look at Spencer. He nods. "Point. Let's work that into the education speech." One of the writers pulls him away then, and Spencer steps aside. He moves backstage with the rest of the staff, tucking in around the corner to watch the students file into the gym. They settle down on the floor in organised lines with their classes, teachers against the wall.

"You're snarky today, Mr. Smith," Brendon whispers, breath hot on Spencer's neck.

Spencer waves him off.

"Look. The future of America is out there." He rests his chin on Spencer's shoulder. "Who will they vote for when their time comes?"

"You're very annoying, you know that?"

"I know."

-

Centerville, South Carolina

The two arms of the campaign come together at an event in South Carolina.

The senator isn't married, and his relationship with Donna Moss is complicated. At least Spencer recognizes the way Josh and Senator Seaborn talk with each other. He stands quiet in corners and in doorways, watching the three of them--the candidate, the campaign manager, and campaign's first lady--and somehow it works. It was Josh's idea. During the days before Super Tuesday, at the headquarters in DC, the senator was worried, again, that his bachelor status was keeping people from voting for him.

"So, Donna'll be your first lady," Josh said, off-the-cuff, like everything he did. Unlike with the senator, Spencer could never be sure when Josh was serious.

Donna looked sharply at Josh when he spoke, standing at the whiteboard at the head of the table. The senator had turned his chair. Spencer couldn't see his face anymore.

Josh laughed then. "Sam, it's perfect." He said to Donna next, "Why didn't we think of this before?"

The senator stood up. "Josh."

Spencer opened the door as Josh spoke to the room, "Guys, give us a moment." The staff gathered up their folders and papers without question. Spencer waited for the senator's signal, then followed. He closed the door behind him.

He doesn't know what happened in that room that day, but Donna was up on stage at the next rally. She fell into her role like she knew it already. The two of them worked the crowd, hand in hand. When she introduces the senator, telling only the best stories from their first campaign together, Spencer starts to understand what exists between the three of them.

The senator knows everyone, but he doesn't have many friends. Sometimes, Spencer thinks all of them are on this bus. Donna has to be one of the best.

"You're his best friend," Spencer says when she steps down off the stage. When she looks at him, he wonders if she shouldn't have said anything.

She shakes her head. "No, that's Josh. I've barely known Sam ten years, can you believe that?"

"No, not really." He's looking for it, which is why Spencer catches the smile before it's gone.

They wait for the senator together, beside the stage, listening to the crowd call out his name as one.

-

Centerville, Maine

"Hey, Spencer, can I get in there?"

He doesn't bother to look up from his email. Spencer says, No, and waves whomever on their way. Then the hall was quiet, after a long day of staffers coming out of the war room at one end of the hotel and going into the senator's room at the other. Spencer stood just inside the door as the senator talked with the staff and fought with Josh. Then Josh glanced up at Spencer and they started moving people out of the room.

Spencer put a chair outside the door and sat, keeping himself between the senator and the rest of the world.

It's nearing two when Spencer hears a familiar sigh. Ryan, still in pants and vest, but with a loosened tie, stops and slides down the wall to sit across from Spencer.

"Why are we stopping in Centerville?"

"Why aren't you asleep?" Spencer asks.

Ryan looks wrinkled, like he fell asleep on his legal pad again. He shrugs and pulls his legs in tighter against his chest.

"It's just the next town over. The senator thinks it'll be interesting." Spencer opens Tic-Tac-Toe on his phone. He lets Ryan have the first move.

"It's not even a town. It's 26 people living in close proximity of one another." He puts an X in the center square.

Spencer uncrosses his legs. He leans forward to take his phone and his turn. "How else do you define a town?"

They pass it back and forth, the game progressing the way it always does. They can't stump each other. The phone in one hand and the other pulling at his hair, Ryan looks a little crazy. He says, "We don't have a lot of time left."

When Spencer takes his phone back, Ryan's put his X in the last square. It's a draw.

"Which is why we need all of the 26 votes in Centerville, Maine."

Ryan takes his hand, and they help each other up. Spencer checks the door, once, making sure the senator is still asleep, before following Ryan back to their room.

-

Centerville, Texas

"Can you move it to the left? The senator wants to stand on the exact midpoint between Dallas and Houston."

Spencer directs the workers with his phone, checking the GPS, then moving them back to the right. He stands behind the podium to check. "OK. Now don't let anyone touch it," and he steps down off the stage.

It's a small rally they have planned, a modified stump and then the bus to Houston for a thousand dollar plate fundraiser. Spencer saw the volunteers off early, with doors to knock and buttons to pin. The senator had morning radio and TV, and now he's having lunch with the mayor. It's nearly time for Spencer to rescue him from the photo op.

"Hey, Spencer Smith."

He's not used to that voice saying his name yet. Jon is standing there when Spencer turns around. He's always standing there these days. "You're not supposed to be here," Spencer tells him.

He holds up his camera like a tease, then lets it fall around his neck. "You always say that."

Spencer jams his hands into his pockets. It's the best way to keep from reaching out.

Jon shrugs. "I got my shots. Thought I'd get some of the town, too. We never seem to get a chance to do that on this rollercoaster."

"But the rollercoaster is the point."

"Sure, the campaign is why we're all here." He reaches into his bag, digging up his clunky Polaroid camera. Sometimes, Spencer finds the photos tucked into his jacket pocket when he wakes up on the bus. Once, in Florida, Brendon delivered one by hand. It was fisherman holding up his catch and underneath was written, I'm hooked on you.

"But the town is the point, Spencer." Jon holds up the camera, pointed at City Hall over Spencer's shoulder. Whirr and click, and there's the photo. "Every town is the point," Jon says, "whether it's Liberal City, Rightfield, or Centerville."

From his back pocket, Jon pulls out a Sharpie and writes on the Polaroid before it's had time to develop. He gives it to Spencer and walks away.

Halfway there.